You’re testing me, I understand that. In promising not to snark, I set myself up for temptation, taunts, and a talmudic discussion of what, precisely, defines “snarking”. Some of you think I’m over the line. Others beg me to cross it. So what have I given up? I said it was “sniping, smirking, whining, and all other forms of sarcasm”.
This does not exclude wit. Or incisiveness. Or even, I maintain, a precisely calibrated blow, delivered to a fatally flawed argument. All of those, it seems, are as necessary as breathing. So help me walk the line here – because otherwise I’m either gonna blow, and go full-bore nasty-ass mud-slinging snarky on y’all, or I’m going to dive so hard into the quest for niceness that I’ll end up talking about my Chi and playing whalesong MP3 snippets here on the blog. Have you ever listened to an endless loop of whalesong? It’s like that New Age “relaxation” music, which has melodies that go on and on and never, ever resolve, and drive musicians crazy – my husband is a guitarist, and the only time he listened to relaxation music he became so enraged he nearly burned down the building. Whalesong sounds similar, except there’s no melody, and you begin to pray for an orca to grab you in its teeth and put you out of your misery. If it comes to that, I won’t be snarking, but you will.